Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 84544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“Here. I was saving this for you,” the stranger said. The crack of the plastic seal filled the silence of the room as the man twisted the cap on a bottle of water and handed it over to Kairo.
Kairo grunted and accepted the water. He took two tentative sips while scanning his surroundings. The room was simple with white walls, wood floors, and a pair of windows that revealed a bright-blue sky. The two twin beds separated by a few feet of empty space and a small desk and chair were the only pieces of furniture in the room.
He was seated on the edge of one bed while his unknown companion was seated on the opposite bed, facing him. Some of the pain had receded in his head and his vision had cleared, allowing him to unabashedly stare at the stranger. In addition to the bruising on his face, his dark-blue button-down shirt was slightly torn on the left shoulder and one of the buttons was missing. His slacks were dirty but still in decent shape. The man had been roughed up but not badly beaten.
“Who are you? Where are we?”
The man’s expression brightened immediately, his smile becoming as warm as the summer sun. “I’m Isidore Panopoulos, but all my friends call me Izzie. I’m so sorry you’re here.” He’d spoken easily in English, and his words carried an accent similar to the man who’d stopped him outside the bathroom, but it wasn’t nearly as strong.
Kairo shoved to his feet and wobbled as the room seemed to sway. Isidore was right there, grabbing his arm with both hands and steadying him.
“Careful now. Go slow,” he murmured in a low, gentle voice.
Kairo ignored the heat of those hands burning his arm through the thin sweater he was wearing. He pulled free of the man’s grip and shuffled over to one of the windows. “And where exactly is here?”
There were no buildings, just a wall of dark-green trees and hints of mountains beyond that against a bright-blue sky. None of it looked familiar—not that Uruguay would necessarily appear familiar to him. It had been his first trip to the country.
“Greece.”
Kairo’s head whipped around toward Isidore, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his brain sloshed in his skull. Lesson learned: no sharp, quick movements for the time being. The contents of his stomach rose, and Kairo sucked in a steadying breath through his nose while clenching his teeth. He was not going to get sick. He also wasn’t going to shout. His head began throbbing with that word he was sure he did not fucking hear.
“Where?” Kairo bit out when he got a handle on his body.
“You’re in Greece,” Isidore repeated, though the words sounded a lot more tentative and nervous.
“Greece? As in the European country? The country that is halfway around the world from where I was…fuck! What day is it?”
“Saturday.” Isidore paused, glanced down at his bare wrist, and then frowned as he lifted his eyes to Kairo. “Afternoon. Saturday afternoon. I believe my people picked you up on Thursday from Uruguay, so you’ve been unconscious for roughly two days. Again. Sorry about that.”
“Your people?” Kairo pushed the heel of his palm against his temple as pain shot through his skull. None of this was making any sense. He’d thought this guy was a prisoner with him based on his appearance, but was he actually looking at his kidnapper?
“Here. You should sit and rest. You’re still recovering.” Isidore lightly grasped his shoulders and guided him over to the bed he’d risen from. When he was seated and the room was no longer spinning, the man pressed him to drink some more water. “You should keep your voice soft. I’m sure they’ll be along shortly, but you need some time to recover before—”
His companion stopped speaking when the sound of heavy footsteps drew closer to the closed door. One hand gave Kairo’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as if reassuring him, but the smile had fallen from the man’s lips as he sighed. Turning toward the door, Isidore straightened and took a step in front of Kairo, as if to protect him.
Kairo carefully screwed the cap onto the water bottle and placed it on the floor beside his foot as the door swung open. A guy strode in accompanied by two others holding guns. Their leader appeared middle-aged with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick beard along his jaw. His body was fit under his black long-sleeved shirt and jeans, but his face was lined and haggard as if he’d led a hard life. His looks certainly weren’t helped by the jagged scar that ran down his left cheek and across his lips, twisting one corner into a permanent sneer.
The man held out both hands and spat out something that Kairo didn’t understand, but the tone was clearly mocking. Kairo glanced up at Isidore to see that his shoulders had stiffened while his hands were balled into fists at his sides.